


every reason for the sunset

by RennieOnIceCream (Hitsugi_Zirkus)



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Developing Friendships, Fluff, M/M, Silly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-14
Updated: 2016-12-14
Packaged: 2018-09-08 15:18:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8850022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hitsugi_Zirkus/pseuds/RennieOnIceCream
Summary: By all means, there was no reason for Yuri Plisetsky to hop onto his motorbike. There was no fundamental trust between them to prompt Yuri to accept Otabek’s offer -- and the look on his face, all tight-pressed lips and suspicious eyes, said that Yuri was quite aware of that.But in the span of a sunset, everything changes.





	

**Author's Note:**

> My first Otayuri! Can you believe I didn't go straight to smut like I did with my first Viktuuri? But in time, in time... Right now I'm kind just exploring around with writing Yuri and Otabek, but this was still quite fun to write. These two are such cuties, I'm so glad that they're tomodachis :") Perfect babs. 
> 
> I haven't watched episode 11 yet but I'm!! So excited to see Otabek skate holy shit!!

By all means, there was no reason for Yuri Plisetsky to hop onto his motorbike.

He had no idea where Otabek would take him, and with how oblivious he was probably couldn’t say much about Otabek’s character. On top of it all, they were rivals on the ice. There was no fundamental trust between them to prompt Yuri to accept Otabek’s offer -- and the look on his face, all tight-pressed lips and suspicious eyes, said that Yuri was quite aware of that. But in a curious sort of silence, he put the helmet on and hoisted his leg over the bike, and that was all it took for Otabek to ride away with Yuri. 

Yuri didn’t say a thing the entire ride, much less hold onto Otabek with his small, bony hands. Otabek didn’t especially mind it until they approached the rocky slopes ahead, and by then he reached back with one hand and pulled Yuri’s forward by the wrist. 

“Oi, what the hell!?” 

“You can fall off here,” Otabek said, forcing his voice louder over the sound of the bike and its tires crunching the gravel under them. The air rushed past his ears as he parted through it at high speed. 

Whether by reflex or resignation, Yuri stopped trying to yank his hand back, his fingers grabbing onto the front of Otabek’s shirt. Perhaps in some kind of show of rebellion, he swiped his nails into the skin under the shirt, and Yuri repeated it by holding onto Otabek with his other hand too -- in the end, Yuri just looked like he was gripping onto Otabek for dear life. Otabek found himself releasing an amused breath through his nose, putting his hand back on the handle. 

Barcelona streaked past them in a blur of color, smearing more and more together like an oil painting as the setting sun’s rays spilled everything with an orange tint. The sight and rushing wind made the rest of the world melt away, leaving him with his single goal in mind when he went out today -- Otabek had gotten good at accomplishing this through the years, to focus everything he had into one thing. 

Eventually, probably realizing wherever their destination was he’d have to wait awhile, Yuri’s chest pressed to his back, his chin pressing onto Otabek’s back. It dug into him with every bump that jostled them, but he didn’t tell Yuri to move or that he might break his jaw. Yuri was a boy that wouldn’t respond to that kind of chastisement -- he was just fifteen, after all. 

There wasn’t much that Yuri could say about Otabek’s character, but Otabek was sure that he could understand quite a few things about the ice-cut Russian punk that was taking his senior debut by storm. 

* * *

Five years ago, Otabek took the news of being put into the novice class with an understanding nod and biting the inside of his cheek to keep the disappointment from showing on his face. 

Everyone started from the bottom. But the truth was that some skaters were simply more talented than others, and that left those like Otabek to work that much harder to keep up with everyone else’s pace. At thirteen-years-old, he already knew that quite well -- putting in extra training and new regimens together in order to even skate alongside his rinkmates. 

The first time Otabek saw Yuri skate, he recognized the fire burning in that tiny body. He was still but a child -- wide eyes, rosy cheeks and everything. But the fierceness with which he skated across the ice eliminated the angelic appearance his short blond hair and green eyes gave him. He held his head high, got up immediately whenever he fell or stumbled, and challenged Yakov on a daily basis to make his routines more challenging and active. 

Yuri Plisetsky was only ten-years-old, yet that summer Otabek had seen a boy that would do anything to climb up the ranks, worrying not about the age or experience of his fellow competitors. 

Sometimes Otabek suspected that Yuri’s ambition would be costly to him one day -- his body was still developing, yet he insisted on performing all manner of dangerous jumps, always right at the edge of shattering. At the same time, Otabek admired how Yuri could skate tall and proud at the end of his programs. Yuri was ever-evolving at a monstrous rate, pushing himself to be better and stronger, to become a skater that none could take his eyes off of. Otabek was one of those that couldn’t look away or even blink once Yuri stepped onto the ice, catching glimpse and again of the ruthless, rough cut of those green eyes. 

_ Like a soldier _ , Otabek remembered thinking. Someone who lived in that moment of a battle to reach the other side in victory, someone scarred from hardship yet still carried on through the dust. 

Eventually, Otabek left Europe, traveling from country to country, developing his skills and learning from every new set of rinkmates he skated with. The training had helped -- he had become a distinguished skater that could hold his own against the greats he shared a senior rink with. 

But when Otabek returned to Almaty, he looked up with a new sense of self-awareness. There was something curious about coming home for the first time in a long time that gave one pause to take stock and look back at the full circle they’d come to. 

At that moment, Otabek realized that in this battle of competitive figure skating, he had no friends. 

It was partially his fault. Otabek knew that he had no interest in engaging with the other skaters, even at social events that drained him mentally. He interacted enough to be polite, but that was the sum of it. There was some grain of truth that between all the training and competitions, some part of him did become socially stunted and he wasn’t certain what to say or do with others. But Otabek suspected and accepted that was also just who he was, and others picked up that he was a man of few words as well.

But when he crossed paths with Yuri again, the intense summer of five years ago played in Otabek’s mind, and he knew that this time, he didn’t simply want to watch Yuri from the sidelines. Riding up on his motorbike and tossing out a helmet in invitation probably wasn’t the typical way to begin building a friendship, but Otabek had no interest in learning the proper social cues.

Especially when the other person involved was hot-tempered, rebellious, foul-mouthed Yuri Plisetsky who didn’t care for rules either. 

* * *

None of those things had to be bad all the time. Otabek was finding these qualities of Yuri -- which were guaranteed to get Yuri either snapped at or avoided by others -- somewhat endearing.

The boy had a beautiful sparkle in his eyes when he showed off pictures of his grandfather and cats, and gestured wildly and sweared up a storm when he really got into the stories he told, and when Otabek pointed out that he had crumbs all over his face, Yuri only flushed and shoved food into his mouth even more sloppy than before. His concept of revenge was so childish. It made Otabek want to laugh, but in a way that was decidedly fond.

“Hey wait, don’t move for a sec,” Yuri demanded, and lifted up his phone. By this time, Otabek was starting to get used to Yuri spontaneously taking pictures -- of the sunset after they shook hands, of Barcelona whirling past them, of the cafe and even their food. 

At first, he’d been slightly uncomfortable that Yuri would post it all on Instagram -- Otabek was pretty private, and he couldn’t imagine them posting everything they did  _ quite  _ yet like in the friendship of Phichit and Yuuri -- but Yuri insisted that he was going to “hog all these for himself”. For what exactly, Otabek wasn’t sure, but he smiled at the fun Yuri was having.

Yuri grinned, showing the photo to Otabek. It didn’t look like anything special, yet Yuri was so excited about this image of Otabek looking down at the tea he was stirring sugar in. 

“You shouldn’t waste your memory on these random pictures of me.” 

“Shut up, do you realize how cool you look? It’s a waste  _ not  _ to preserve it. Hah, but you probably look cool all the time. I should catch you when you’re being lame.” 

The corner of Otabek’s lips turned up slightly. “Take more selfies. You look cool yourself.” 

Caught off-guard that Otabek hasn’t risen to the bait, Yuri’s cheeks instantly grew dark pink under the dim cafe lights. He lightly shoved Otabek’s leg under the table and said with a barely-hidden smile, “Shut up.”

A deep laugh rumbled in Otabek’s throat. He cupped his jaw with his hand, not taking his eyes off of Yuri for an instant as he animatedly launched off onto another story, watching for Otabek’s reactions. 

No one had probably ever listened to him like this before, and Yuri seemed to be waiting for Otabek to say that he’d had enough of hanging around a loudmouthed kid. 

No such intention to drop Yuri like a shoe crossed Otabek’s mind. And if it wasn’t for them being found in the cafe, he would’ve gladly listened to just Yuri’s voice for the rest of the evening. 

* * *

Otabek wasn’t good at comforting people. He knew more or less the typical script of what to ask, but he had no idea what would work when it came to Yuri.

Ever since they left the restaurant with everyone else, Yuri’s mood had become rather sullen. His hood was drawn up, his hands shoved deeper into his pockets than before, and his bangs were messily tossed in front of his face from the wind -- Otabek didn’t need to brush them aside though to know he had on one of his infamous scowls.

So he asked under the animated chatter of the others, “Do you want to ride back with me?” 

Yuri stopped walking, huffing like he’d snap from the sound of someone talking to him. But instead, he forced a deep breath, then started to shuffle his feet impatiently. He was glaring at the ground and looked in danger of exploding any moment. 

Otabek took that as the answer and broke away from the group without a word -- neither of them wanted the attention or to deal with explanations -- and headed in the direction where they left his bike. In a few seconds, he heard Yuri scuffing his sneakers behind him. 

This time, Yuri gripped onto Otabek without any prompting, hands shaking. Otabek didn’t move them or bring up that Yuri was holding on too tight -- if Yuri wanted to start beating against his chest, he’d let him. 

As soon as the bike rumbled to life, Yuri pressed his cheek against Otabek’s back. And then they were taking off, cutting through the air once more.

Otabek didn’t take them back to the hotel right away. He drove in aimless circles around the city, now glowing softly from the string of lights illuminating the night. The colder air sliced over his cheeks, and every so often, Otabek put his hand over Yuri’s to warm them -- his palm easily shielded both of them, and Yuri didn’t pull away.

At some point, they came to a red light, and finally Yuri snapped. “This is so fucking stupid.”

Otabek didn’t say anything, but he put his hand over one of Yuri’s to show he was listening.

“Stupid, useless pig. Stupid fucking Viktor!” he said, voice on the verge of a growl. “This is bullshit, he was supposed to--!  _ Ugh _ !” Yuri did end up hitting a fist against Otabek’s chest with his free hand -- but just once, as he opened his palm and patted over Otabek in shaky apology. Then he settled on muttering furiously away into Otabek’s jacket. 

The light turned green, and the motorbike rumbled as they accelerated forward again. And Yuri continued to rant on and on, louder now to be heard over the noise, even though he didn’t seem to be talking to anyone in particular anymore. Sometimes his words just turned to frustrated noises. Otabek let the incoherent tantrum whip past them. 

His phone was buzzing in his pocket, probably his coach asking where he was. Through the blur of buildings and clouds, the moon observed them with an eerie stillness. Otabek turned around at the next street and took delivered them back to the hotel. By that time, Yuri had stopped yelling his head off and just slumped tiredly against Otabek. In the ride, he had laced their fingers together to keep hanging on. 

When Otabek parked into the lot and turned his bike off, he sat there and waited for Yuri to move first. But Yuri continued to lay against him. The lot brought a weary yet comfortable sort of silence after riding the streets, and Otabek squeezed Yuri’s hand, half to see if he was awake. 

“Did you get it all out?” 

Yuri scoffed half-heartedly. “Nowhere close.” 

_ Your fire just never goes out _ , Otabek thought, half-impressed. He took his helmet off with his free hand. “Do you want to talk about it?” 

“Not with you.” Yuri didn’t say it with anger or with ill-intent. It wasn’t utter rejection or distrust.

Otabek nodded in understanding. He sent a mental message to Viktor as if that would actually prepare him for the chewing out Yuri was going to give him -- and it would likely be loud and violent. Well, there wasn’t much Otabek could do about that. In all, he wondered if he helped even Yuri at all, considering he hadn’t actually said anything outside three questions during this whole situation. 

Suddenly full of energy again, Yuri yanked his hand back and slid off the bike. “Uh,” he stared down at his hands, “not that you’re a shitty listener. You’re actually really great at that -- I mean, you listened to me talk  _ all day _ . How the hell did you not tell me to shut my mouth or something? Like right now, you should do it. I mean, everyone else does -- not that you’re like  _ them _ , thank god. You’re great. Really great… For a friend, I mean, you’ll -- you’ll be good at it.” 

Otabek stared at Yuri during this new kind of rant. His fire of anger had dimmed down, but now his flame was flickering wildly in a sort of excitement that Otabek wasn’t familiar with. It could be related to the reason Otabek himself felt like smiling again, like they captured that new, warm feeling they found when they first forged their friendship. 

“I’m glad you accepted being my friend, Yuri.” 

“Ah. Yeah.” Yuri took his helmet off, hanging it off one of the bike’s handles. When he brushed his bangs back, his cheeks were flushed. “I had fun, Otabek. You should’ve talked to me sooner.” 

The thought never occurred to Otabek, and the realization gave him pause as he mused to himself. “I suppose I was too busy chasing you to actually think of catching you.” 

“Chasing me? I was  _ ten _ , you’re gonna have to phrase that better.” 

But Otabek wasn’t sure how to articulate it any clearer. 

The fact of the matter was, Yuri had  _ inspired  _ him. Yuri had been -- and still was -- only a child, but he knew exactly what he wanted to do; his goal was quite clear, and he would skate with a will and drive that no other skater could match. That was how he made himself stronger. Otabek chased after such a fire to even have a  _ spark  _ of it to carry with him. 

As Otabek thought, Yuri had apparently reached his limit and shoved his hands in his pockets. He pulled out his phone from one of them and unlocked it. He made a face. “Yeesh, Yakov and the hag spammed me with calls.” 

“My coach did too.” Otabek got out his own phone, looking at the voicemail numbers. “I suppose they all wondered why we didn’t come back with everyone else.” 

“We should go back out,” Yuri declared.

“Just to spite them?” Otabek let out an amused breath and got off his bike at last, putting the helmets away in the back compartment. “No, we should head inside and get all the rest we can.” 

Yuri made a thoughtful sound. “I hate that you’re right. But I  _ do  _ gotta kick all your asses.”

Otabek smiled. There was that soldier fire again. 

On the way back inside the hotel, Yuri suddenly thrust his phone out to Otabek. “Oh yeah,” he said with a casualness that didn’t match his urgent movement, “you should put your contact info in. I mean, if that’s cool with you.” 

Otabek took Yuri’s phone, seeing that it was already opened up to the screen to create a new contact. Also to his surprise, a photo had already been added of himself with an impassive expression that didn’t match the peace sign he held up. It was the first photo Yuri had taken of him on demand in front of the cafe, and he had laughed fondly at Otabek’s sad attempt to be photogenic. There had been other pictures, and even selfies afterward, so why Yuri chose this one was a mystery. 

As he put in his information, Otabek pulled out his own phone again and handed it to Yuri. “I guess I should be taking more pictures like you.”

“I can just take one right now,” Yuri said. He went off to the side and held up Otabek’s phone at an angle for the selfie. Otabek watched as Yuri posed with a huge grin and flipping off the camera. 

They waited. 

And waited.

Yuri frowned, heaving a sigh. “What the hell?? I’m clicking the button, but it just keeps adjusting the focus.” He put his hand down and brushed back his bangs to get a better look at the screen. His thumb tapped away, but nothing was happening. “Otabek, your phone is confusing, you take the--  _ Ack _ !”

At the sound of the camera’s click, Otabek looked over Yuri’s shoulder and saw the slightly-blurred selfie of Yuri brushing his bangs back, eyes wide and glancing away in confusion, his mouth half-open. Otabek took the phone to get a closer look. 

“Oi, give that back, I need a do-over!” 

“No, this one will do.” 

“Otabek, you  _ better  _ not spread that anywhere!” 

“Who would I give it to?” Otabek set the photo to Yuri’s contact and pocketed his phone with a smile. “I’m hogging this one to myself.” 

Yuri blinked at the parroted words from earlier and relaxed his scowl. Then he headed to the elevators with crossed arms and slightly mussed hair. 

“Fine,” he said. “I  _ trust  _ you, y’hear?” 

And he had every reason to.

**Author's Note:**

> Come talk Otayuri with me on twitter, @RenOnIceCream


End file.
